


Seven Stages

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Cheating, College AU, F/M, Heartbreak, High School AU, Hurt, Low Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: When he was only eighteen years old, Ben Wyatt made the biggest mistake of his life.He lost Leslie Knope in only four stages.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	Seven Stages

When he was only eighteen years old, Ben Wyatt made the biggest mistake of his life.

He lost Leslie Knope in only four stages.

Beautiful, bright Leslie Knope, the girl he fell in love with. The girl he had known since he was eight years old but didn't have the guts to talk to until he was ten. The girl that he took to his junior prom after sheepishly asking her in her backyard with a handful of wildflowers for her. The girl that wore a wildflower in her hair every day they were together. The girl he kissed goodnight and snuck phone calls with and the girl he walked hand in hand with at their high school graduation.

The girl he was supposed to stay with forever, if only he thought to tell her he loved her. If only she hadn't told him she would be leaving Partridge to move to Pawnee, Indiana for college. Far, far away from Ben.

And, really, if only for it wasn't that night.

Stage one was screaming.

Ben paced in Leslie’s backyard, finding it difficult to look at her. She still wore that wildflower in her hair, yellow on yellow, but that didn't make it a welcome sight. Her hair was tucked into a limp ponytail, her hands hidden in an oversized sweatshirt, her eyes wide and round and filled with angry tears.

“I don't understand why you're so mad,” she told him, and her voice was shaky coming out. Ben’s fingers clenched.

“I don't understand why you're doing this!” he retaliated. “I mean… you lied to me. What you did, Leslie, that was a lie. You looked me in the eye and you told me you were going to stay in Partridge and I believed you.”

“The opportunity came up! Indiana State got back to me, and I have family in Pawnee, what else was I supposed to do?”

“The very  _ least  _ you could've done was talk to me first!” Ben was yelling, but he wished he cared more about that. He was seething, and his whole body felt strained and hot and full of tension. And here he stood in front of the girl he loved as she was crying, and he did nothing to stop it. Nothing to comfort her. He certainly didn't tell her he loved her.

“ _ You do not own me, Ben Wyatt!”  _ There. Now she was yelling too, so Ben didn't have to feel so bad, right? Screaming at each other was much easier than screaming at silence. This allowed him to get even angrier. “You don't get to make my choices for me! Maybe there was a  _ reason  _ I didn't tell you about Pawnee.”

“What reason? What reason could possibly be strong enough to lie to my face?”

“ _ Because I knew you would react just like this!  _ I knew you would be mad, and maybe I just didn't want to deal with that.”

Ben shook his head, over and over again. “I don't believe that. I don't believe you. Because I've always supported you, Leslie, and if you had told me right away, I would've wanted you to go, too. I'm mad now because you  _ lied  _ about it. I think you just wanted to run away from here and cut everyone off so you could start your new life in Pawnee, and now you're upset you're caught. You're not that sneaky.”

She looked caught off guard by that. And really, it was a shame that the yelling was the least painful part of that night, and now it was over.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and her fingers slipped to her hair, crumpling the wildflower in her hand. It fell to the floor so sadly, so limp, and that was really the moment it all started to fall apart. “Get out of here, Ben,” she whispered. “Just… just go home. We’ll talk about this tomorrow when we're both calmed down.”

And really, Ben should have gone home. He really, truly should have.

But Andy Dwyer was hosting a massive party that night and he had personally invited Ben, with the promise that there was alcohol. Ben had absolutely no idea how a bunch of eighteen year olds managed to make that happen, but he was worked up enough to not care. 

If the first stage was screaming, then the second stage was alcohol.

Hours after their argument, Ben was very drunk, to the point where the room was spinning and it was hard to walk and he kept finding himself on the floor. And he was very emotional. Sad, but mostly angry, and he found himself saying the same thing anytime someone asked.

“She lied to me,” he would say, more slurred every hour. “She's leaving me.”

And maybe… maybe some people took that to mean Leslie was breaking up with Ben. Maybe Ben didn't make that very clear, in his explanations, that there weren't really any plans for a breakup. He had assumed they would go long distance, that they could make it work, if their argument didn't blow up in their faces.

It wasn't the argument that snapped that fragile line between them, however.

So many drinks later and all Ben could see was a blurry face and soft brunette curls. He felt his own feet wandering and suddenly the room was much quieter, the sounds of the party muffled, and the room was much darker. There were soft, small hands on his arms and he tried to focus in, but it was too dim, and his eyes wouldn't adjust, and his brain wouldn't work. He felt pressure against his lips and he realized, vaguely, that he was being kissed, and that was when the fog started to clear up a little more, just enough for his mind to shut down and his body to take over.

He was only eighteen years old when Ben Wyatt made the biggest mistake of his life.

He didn't even remember his shirt coming off until he felt skin on his, a feminine figure pressed tightly to him, her hands sliding into his hair. He reached forwards and felt a girl’s waist, and then he was holding her tightly, and kissing her back. And the entire time his mind was blank, complete static, not a single thought capable of entering. All he knew was that he had to get all possible pieces of clothing off of his skin or else he would burn, and she felt so tiny in his hands, so small. She would gasp when her pants came off and Ben groaned when her mouth was on his dick and by the time he woke up, he remembered it all as a dream.

Actually, he pictured the whole party as a dream, because when his eyes slowly cracked open, he had no idea where he was. The room was still dark, save for tiny bits of sunlight filtering through the slits in the blinds, and he was laying on a bed he didn't recognize. A second later, he realized he had no clothes on, so why did he feel so warm?

With squinting eyes, he rolled over on the tiny twin bed and saw brunette curls lying across his chest, and he knew instantly what he had done.

He recognized the girl as Shauna Malwae-Tweep. A classmate who had always been interested in him, even after he started seriously going out with Leslie. And he remembered, suddenly, with perfect sobering clarity, uttering those  _ awful  _ words to Shauna last night.

“She lied to me,” he told her, and then Shauna’s hands were on his chest, and he didn't bother to move them. “She's leaving me.”

“Do you love her?” Shauna had asked.

Ben should've said  _ yes.  _ He should've told Shauna he loved Leslie, should've told the whole party, should've told  _ Leslie.  _ But he didn't. He fucking didn't.

Instead, he had just repeated himself. “She's leaving me.”

Ben untangled himself from Shauna and leapt from the bed, uncaring that the action sent her sleeping form collapsing to the floor. She groaned on impact, and didn't even gather up blankets to cover her body up.

“Benji?” she whispered, and that nickname… that nickname on her lips made him want to vomit, or cease to exist, or burn in a fire. “Are you okay?”

Ben tried to speak, but he felt empty, his voice raspy, like he was choking. “I…” he gasped. “Don't…” And she was furrowing her brows, pouting her lips, and he could only utter one sentence. “Don't tell anyone about this,  _ no one.”  _

But stage three was April Ludgate and her phone camera.

Ben would find out later that, in looking for one of Andy’s guitars, April had propped open the door to the bedroom to find him and Shauna, naked and tangled together in the blankets. And she might've wrinkled her nose, shut the door, and forgot she saw anything, but April Ludgate happened to be one of the closest friends of one Leslie Knope, and therefore, would do anything for her.

He should've felt lucky April didn't murder him right then and there, but really, what she did hurt much more. He kind of wished she had just chosen to murder him.

Leslie was waiting for him on his doorstep by the time he got home, and the scariest part? There were no tears in her eyes. No emotion at all.

“Leslie—” he started, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

“I'm going to give you one chance to tell me the truth,” she said. “So you'd better choose your words carefully. Where were you last night?”

It was clear at this point that Ben couldn't get away with lying, or pretending it never happened. He didn't know, yet, how she knew, but it was obvious she did. Ben took a deep breath. “I went to Andy’s party.”

“And did you drink at Andy’s party?”

“Yes. But, Leslie, listen—”

“Don't,” she hissed, holding up her hand again. Today, there was no wildflower in her hair, and no spark in her eyes. She was building up her walls to keep him out already.

Stage four was heartbreak, like he'd never felt it before.

“I only have one more question for you,” Leslie said, strong enough to look him in the eye. “Did you, or did you not, sleep with Shauna Malwae-Tweep at Andy’s party?”

“Leslie—”

“Tell me the  _ fucking  _ truth, Ben.”

His hands were sweaty, shoved into his pants pockets, and he could no longer look at her. He couldn't bear it. He stared at the grass on his front lawn and again wished that he could cease to exist, because even nothingness would be better than being here. He gasped as the single word came to the surface. “ _ Yes.”  _

And then, as much as Leslie tried not to, she was crying, her face twisting into an ugly sob that she tried so hard to keep at bay. Her chest heaved with the weight of the truth, and she, too, could only utter a single word, the softest she’d ever spoken. “ _ Why?”  _

But Ben didn't have an answer for that.

She waited for one. She waited a long time, as if expecting something more, while she stood on the steps of his house and cried. Her hand pressed over her heart on her chest as if it physically ached and Ben knew that however terrible he felt, it was nothing compared to how she was suffering. 

“In the seventh grade we got into our first real fight,” she said to him. “And afterwards, I told you I could never really hate you.”

“Leslie, please don't—”

“I think I lied then.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath and there was only agony in her eyes. “Because I think I really hate you now. And I think I really did make the right decision to move to Pawnee.” And then she was walking, her car keys in her hands, and Ben stood frozen as she strode past him. “I hope I never see you again.”

It was the last he saw of her for five years, the last image plastered in his brain, of her tear stained face and bright hair looking suddenly faded, dull, as she drove away from him and out of his life.

And Ben spent a very long five years soulsearching, because even though it only took him four stages to lose Leslie Knope, he dedicated a fifth stage to guilt, and to bettering himself.

He spent five years single. He spent five years trying to make up for what he did by choosing not to have sex at all, no matter how drunk he got. And for the first year, he would get  _ very  _ drunk. When he woke up at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday in his shower, cold against the tile and tasting bile in his cheeks, he knew that this method of coping was no longer helping him. So he gave up alcohol too.

The remaining four years was spent working his ass off in college, drowning completely in his work, getting the best possible grades he could. He took as many classes as he was allowed, and he took an accounting internship on the side. He discovered numbers were good for him. Numbers were solid, and fact, and did not waver. He didn't need to have emotions or second-guess himself when it came to numbers, they were just cold and logical and they  _ worked.  _ And he was good at it.

And maybe, just maybe, a couple of times he went to see a therapist. Because for a very long time he hated himself for what he did to Leslie, and he found it impossible to forgive himself. He didn't believe he was even deserving of love, let alone Leslie’s love, or any good things at all.

He spent too many nights trying to find her on the internet. When he finally did, she looked happy. He found some comfort in that.

“And you never told her you loved her?” his therapist asked.

Ben shook his head. “Never.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I thought I had all the time in the world.”

But you should never really look at things like that, should you? Because people move away, people move on, people leave you, people die. Accidents happen everyday, tragedies are always right around the corner, and no one wants to be the fool who waited to say something just to never have the chance. There is no reason to wait for the right time, or to put it off because you feel like you have time.  _ You find someone you like, and you roll the dice.  _

And so, five years after Leslie drove away from him outside his house, Ben woke up with stage six in mind.

A road trip.

He took two days to plan a trip and before long, he was driving to Pawnee, Indiana, his heart on his sleeve and a bag in the back and an apology prepared. He was being reckless, he knew, but he was sick and tired of being careful. He was sick of waiting, sick of living with that heavy feeling of regret in the pit of his stomach and guilt in his heart, and even if by the end she still never wanted to see him again, he decided that would be okay, because at least he said something. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't at least say something.

Andy Dwyer texted Ben Leslie’s address, because he and April had been over several times, with a very enthusiastic message to say good luck. He arrived in Pawnee and he took a deep breath, but he realized that he felt oddly calm.

Maybe it was because Ben didn't expect any forgiveness out of this trip. He expected nothing in return. He only wanted to tell her, to say his piece, and then he would be on his way, and the both of them would have enough closure to move on with their lives.

The final stage, stage seven, was ringing the doorbell.

When she answered, she looked as bright as she used to, before Ben broke her heart. And she was every bit as beautiful, her eyes wide and glowing. When she realized who was at her door, she paused, and she frowned, looking at him suspiciously.

“Ben Wyatt,” she whispered, and there was no clear emotion in her tone, but at least she didn't slam the door in his face. “What are you doing on my doorstep?”

There were so many things he could say, that he should've said, but suddenly he forgot them all. Suddenly, he was only capable of three words, gasping as he spoke them, as they had waited for a decade to finally be uttered. 

“I love you,” he told her. “I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now. I've always loved you. And I'm not asking for forgiveness, or for you to say you ever loved me, but… I just really needed you to know that.”

She was silent for a long time after that.

Leslie searched Ben’s face as if judging his sincerity, looking for any sign of a joke, or a lie, but there was none. He was completely vulnerable, and at her mercy, and he would take whatever was thrown at him. This would not erase the mistake he made at eighteen years old, and he would never try to excuse himself, but this way, at least… he hoped they could both grow to be okay.

So Ben pulled his hand from behind his back and presented Leslie with a single wildflower. If only to prove just how deadly serious he was.

There was a beat, a pause that went on for too long, with Leslie standing in her doorway and Ben with his hand outstretched and everything out in the open, and there was no way to tell what would happen, or what would be said. But then Leslie moved, her hand rising, her fingers gently taking the stem of the wildflower, and—

Leslie started to smile.


End file.
